Karaaf

[khiemtran]

As promised, next we come to a special place, quite possibly William Buckley's favourite spot in all the world.

This is the Karaaf River, the same one that Buckley crossed on his initial journey west from Port Phillip Bay. It features a lot in his stories, but, despite spending a lot of time in the area, I had never heard of it before. I was quite shocked when I found out how close it was the area I go to when I visit my family. These days it's hidden behind a preserved wetland.



We return now to John Morgan's The Life and Adventures of William Buckley:

At length I was compelled to leave my quarters and move to the Karaaf River again, where I built a more substantial hut, the locality being full of roots. Unfortunately I had no dog to hunt the kangaroo, so my dependence was chiefly upon the fish, which sometimes however, were very scarce... One day, whilst watching the fish, I saw a great shoal of bream come into the mouth of the river, making their way up a long distance, to a bend where it branches off, and where it is of considerable depth. When the tide turned, they came down with it again, and it occurred to me that if I could by any means stop them in their retreat by a sort of wear (weir) I should have a great supply of food.



These days, the river mouth is blocked off entirely at low tide...



Meanwhile, Buckley's plan continues to take shape...

After examining the river, I found a spot suited to my purpose, where the tide did not rise above two feet, and here I resolved on making the attempt. With this view, I set to work making faggots with rushes and boughs of trees -- carrying them down to the bank of the river; and at the same time, preparing long stakes, sharpened at one end, to make them fast in the sand.



The fish trap proved to be a great success; and Buckley found himself with a ready supply of food. Even his Wathaurong friends were impressed when he showed them the results. He would return to this place again and again, repairing his fish trap each time and watching the moon to determine when the tides would bring the fish again. The excess fish he would try in the sun, and he would supplement his diet with native roots such as the Murning.



These days, if you go there, you can still see some WWII fortifications (looking remarkably reminiscent of Ned Kelly...)



And Aboriginal middens, the remains of ancient feasting sites. Once they would have eaten abalone (kooderoo), mussels (moorabool) and oysters (barrabool).



And, in the rocks by the shore, even older remains...



The bay at the mouth of the river is now known as Buckley's Bay.



And it's a treasured spot of the local surfers.



Around the corner is a Nudist beach, but it's way too cold today for any nudists...



As the light fades, the Liem and his cousins practice skimming stones in the water...





And Grandpa shows them how it's done...



There's no doubting that Buckley found contentment here, and in his life with the Wathaurong. Certainly, he knew of white sealers making bases along the coast and chose not to make contact. But by 1835, a new expedition appeared, which would ultimately result in the founding of Melbourne. A camp had been left at Indented Head while the ship returned to Tasmania, and it was here that Buckley emerged from the dead for a second time...

The white men could not make me out -- my half-cast colour, and extraordinary height and figure -- dressed, or rather undressed, as I was -- completely confounding them as to my real character. At length one of them came up and asked me some questions which I could not understand; but when he offered me bread -- calling it by its name -- a cloud appeared to pass from over my brain, and I soon repeated that, and other English words after him.

Buckley would ultimately receive a pardon for his work in translating for the new settlers and took up employment first with the settlers and then with the new Captain Lonsdale, the new Commandant of the colony. He had many more adventures, but, as relationships soured between the natives and the colonists, he soon found himself in an untenable position - untrusted by each side and fearful of the suspicions of each.

Despite, or maybe because of, his being the person perhaps uniquely best qualified to understand the impending situation, it is quite possible that no-one wanted to hear what he had to say. The founders of city had told him that they had "bought" the land from "native chiefs", which he knew could not have been true. Most likely, the people they had encountered had assumed the ceremonies were simply tanderrum rituals to grant passage through the land. Amongst the new settlers, there was also great excitement at the possibility of acquiring vast new properties - in one stroke, they could set their families up for generations like English lords - as long as they were prepared to get rid of the people who were there first. And on the other hand, the Aboriginals quite possibly never grasped how the new arrivals would behave once their numbers increased and what it would mean for their way of life.

By 1838, Buckley had received permission to leave for Tasmania, where he would live out the rest of his days. He would never see the land of the Wathaurong, or his native England again. Just two years later, the Wathaurong had been banned from the town of Geelong, with its streets with names like Moorabool and Yarra.

By 1856, the year Buckley died, just 20 surviving Wathaurong could be found in the Geelong area, out of a count of 297 back in 1837. Many had died of influenza or smallpox, but others had been murdered or driven off.

In his new life in Hobart, Buckley married, worked in various jobs, and eventually helped John Morgan write his memoirs from which I have ben quoting (Buckley himself remained illiterate all his life). It's easy to imagine him, after this life full of adventure, wishing he was back at Karaaf, with his old friends and family, in happier days...

Comments

[asakiyume.livejournal.com]

I knew how the story ends (broadly speaking) for the Wathaurong, but it's still very painful to read.

So the -bool suffix maybe has something to do with shells? Those ancient middens--wow. And yes, the fortifications really do look like Ned Kelly's armor, and the whole thing reminds me of the Russian jaegar [giant mecha] in the new movie that's just come out, Pacific Rim (which, despite being all about giant mechas fighting monsters, is great in its portrayals of friendship and familial love, and for championing the values of working together as opposed to the lone-hero mentality).

He had many more adventures, but, as relationships soured between the natives and the colonists, he soon found himself in an untenable position - untrusted by each side and fearful of the suspicions of each. Despite, or maybe because of, his being the person perhaps uniquely best qualified to understand the impending situation, it is quite possible that no-one wanted to hear what he had to say.

That hurts like a blow, but of course it would be like that. How could either side stand to hear his Cassandra-like words?

[khiemtran.livejournal.com]

So the -bool suffix maybe has something to do with shells?

I don't know, unfortunately. It seems like a good guess.

That hurts like a blow, but of course it would be like that. How could either side stand to hear his Cassandra-like words?
Quite. It's also worth noting that Buckley was of comparatively low status on both sides - as a freed convict, he was one rung off the bottom of the white hierarchy, and on the Wathaurong side, he seems to have been regarded as a loveable fool.

[lethargic-man.livejournal.com]

Gorgeous photos.

I remember a Native American criticism of Dances With Wolves, that as the protagonist had feathers on his head, the author had feathers in his, but Buckley's story shows that kind of scenario really did happen where white men isolated from their colonies met natives.

Do you know why Buckley chose to approach the new settlers, with the risk that he'd be forced to serve out the rest of his sentence? Obviously, his choice paid off, but he couldn't know that in advance.

[khiemtran.livejournal.com]

Good point! I should have mentioned that. In the book, one of the reasons Buckley gives is that he heard of a plan to attack the camp.

That night was one of great anxiety to me, for I knew not how, without danger to apprise the strangers of their situation -- as the least appearance of such an intention would, to the natives, have seemed liked treachery. My reflections were very painful, for I was, of course, aware of having long since forgotten the language of my youth.

[heleninwales.livejournal.com]

That was an amazing account and I really enjoyed your re-telling, accompanied by such evocative photos. Just reading it on Wikipedia isn't the same as sharing your exploration of the places mentioned in the memoirs.

[khiemtran.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you liked it. It's certainly a story that I think should be better known. I was really surprised to hear that none of my friends from outside Victoria had heard of William Buckley, although they did know the expression "Buckley's Chance".

I should point out too that the John Morgan account was very obviously written in an attempt to be a best seller, and so is prone to both embellishment and omission (in earlier interviews for example, Buckley mentions actually meeting up with one of his fellow escapees for a while but then splitting with him after seeing his behaviour with the "natives" - this is left out of the Morgan version, presumably to build up the solo survival aspect of the story).

[soon_lee]

Lovely pictures to go with the story. Thanks for sharing.

[khiemtran.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[mnfaure.livejournal.com]

Lovely light in all those photos.

Thanks for sharing such an intriguing story!

[khiemtran.livejournal.com]

Yes, I love the sky around that part of the world. I guess it's just because it's what I grew up with, but whenever I see that light, it always feels like 'home'.